


Conscience

by remanth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clintasha - Freeform, Conscience, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint makes a different call with regards to the Black Widow and comes to treasure the fact that he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conscience

It had taken nearly a month of searching but he’d finally found her. Over the last month, he’d lost count of how many times he’d thought she’d left the city. Several times he’d wondered if he was looking for a ghost, someone who didn’t really exist. Sometimes, he even wondered if this mission had been given to him just to get him out of the way for some reason. Even though he thought he’d gotten a glimpse of his target early on, he still doubted. At least, until he was almost killed in the little perch he’d holed up in. It was the bell tower of an abandoned church, the bell long gone and the steps rickety enough that he’d thought they wouldn’t support his weight. 

Even now, two weeks later, he wasn’t sure how she’d gotten into his nest to booby trap it. He’d barely seen the bomb in time to use one of his EMP arrowheads to disable it. Stealth was second nature to him and he’d been so sure that no one knew where he was holing up. But she had and had let him know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t appreciate his presence. That was the last time he’d doubted her existence. Now, he just had to find her and carry out his mission. Even if he was starting to develop a grudging respect for her skills.

After he’d eaten a scanty lunch, he’d taken to scanning the city down below for his target. She should be distinctive, her red hair like a flag in the sea of darker-haired people down below. There’s been a few women walking past that his heart had beat faster at the sight of but they weren’t her. Merely women who’d had the same distinctive red hair. Once he’d looked at the style, it had been nothing like the straight bob he’d seen on the woman in the one blurry picture S.H.I.E.L.D. had managed to snap of her. Reminding himself to have patience, Clint Barton studied the people and held back a yawn. And then he saw her.

Her hair was blowing in the slight wind coursing through the square below, strands moving over her face. It was a little longer than in the picture, as if she’d been too busy in the time since that she hadn’t cut it. The longer hair suited her, in Clint’s opinion. Not that the bob didn’t but the longer hair softened her face, somehow, made her seem young and innocent. Which she probably used to get close to certain targets. Many people were a sucker for a young, pretty face for a multitude of reasons. She was wearing a white blouse that snugged up to her neck with long sleeves that came down to cover her wrists. The hem came down over the black pencil skirt she was wearing and hid her waistline. With the billowy white shirt, it was entirely possible that she’d hidden a few choice weapons underneath it. The skirt came down to her knees though the rest of her legs were covered by black leather boots. They looked well-worn in and comfortable.

“Gotta make sure,” Clint muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes as he watched her walk. She moved with a distinctive gait, her shoulders rolling easily and each step placed with deliberation. He used a handheld scope to get a closer look at her face and felt his heart beat faster when he recognized her immediately. It was indeed his target. “Time to go to work.”

Keeping the woman in sight, Clint jumped out of the bell tower and made his way down to street level. It warmed him up and made him grin at the sheer thrill of climbing down over the buildings. When he made it down, the woman had turned a corner into an alleyway where no one was walking. It was the perfect place to ambush her. Running silently, Clint made his way after her and followed her in the alley. He expected to find her still walking, maybe about halfway down by this time. Instead, he found her facing him, anger in her eyes and a smirk on her face. She was standing in the middle of the alley, arms at her side and feet braced. She looked at her ease but Clint saw that she was ready to snap into motion the instant it was called for.

“Why are you following me?” the woman asked, her voice low and steady and without accent. “Who are you?”

“I’m pretty sure you have an idea of who I am,” Clint replied, shaking his head. Surreptitiously, he moved one arm behind his back and readied his bow. “As to why I’m following you, well, that’s simple. You’re my target.”

“Someone sent you to kill me, huh?” the woman’s smirk grew larger, a gleam coming into her eyes. But there was something there that Clint thought he recognized, an exhaustion that he’d felt himself before. And, flashing across the woman’s face so fast he wondered if he was seeing things, desperation. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

Before he could say anything, the woman was launching herself at him. Her fingers reached for his eyes and Clint had to jerk his head out of the way to avoid being blinded. When he reached for her arms, her leg swept out and knocked him of balance. Clint went with the motion and rolled out of the way of the punch the woman was directing at him. Suddenly, the codename Black Widow was making a lot more sense. She fought dirty. But that was all right. So did he. When he came up from his roll, Clint aimed a quick punch at her stomach. It knocked the wind out of her in a whooshing rush. Clint followed up the punch with a kick at her knee, hoping to disable her enough, but she dodged out of the way just in time.

Clint watched her warily as she backed up, hand clasped over her stomach as her breath heaved. She still hadn’t quite caught her breath but that didn’t stop her from charging him again. This time, Clint was ready. He caught her by the waist and shoulder, pivoting in place to use her own momentum to slam her into the brick building next to them. Her breath whooshed out of her mouth again along with a small moan. Her body went limp, Clint holding most of weight up. There was blood streaming from her nose and the corner of her mouth as she turned her head to look at Clint. Anger and frustration danced in her eyes but there was something else there that made Clint pause.

“Well?” the woman coughed, voice hoarse. “Finish it.”

Clint continued to stare at her, eyes narrowed. She wasn’t fighting him now, though in the few seconds since she’d slammed against the wall, she’d caught her breath again. Instead, she was supporting her own weight but not trying to get away. It was as if she’d completely given in and was just waiting. He studied her eyes, trying to understand the welter of emotions there. Her face was blank so her eyes were the only clue he had. Exhaustion was there alongside the anger and maybe a little bit of relief that the cat and mouse game was over. But was really threw Clint, and caused his heart to clutch in his chest, was the _gratitude_. She was thankful he’d stopped her. And that caused him to stop. That caused him to change his mission directives on the spot. Fury could just deal with it.

Taking a deep breath, Clint knocked the woman’s head against the brick again. This time, she went completely limp as her eyes fluttered closed. He lifted her up into his arms, hefting her easily. She weighed less than she looked in that billowy white shirt. He headed out of the alley and started walking towards the rendezvous point S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him. Keeping to side streets and alleys to keep out of sight was easy. Most people took the main thoroughfares to get where they needed to go. Once he got to the point, Clint set the woman down and radioed in. It wouldn’t be long until a plane came to pick him up. Until then, he’d watch her to make sure she didn’t regain consciousness.

Two days later, Clint was sitting in Nick Fury’s office staring at an angry director. The woman, who’d only given the name Natasha, was sitting in a cell. She’d so far resisted any attempts to interrogate her. This was the first time Clint had seen Nick since the plane had brought them all back to headquarters. At least he wasn’t quite as angry now as he’d been then.

“So, Barton, care to explain why you brought her back?” Fury asked, clasping his hands together as he perched his elbows on his desk. “You were ordered to kill her.”

“Well, sir, I couldn’t do that,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Not in good conscience. So I changed my mission.”

“Why not?” Fury asked. “You know how dangerous she is.”

“Yes I do,” Clint nodded. “But when I looked at her, I saw myself. I was dangerous and you took me in. You saw what I was capable of and you gave me purpose. I saw the same in her and I think we can use her.”

That stopped Fury in his tracks, mouth open to argue automatically though no words coming to mind. It was very true that Clint had been dangerous when Fury had first run across him. Killing or jailing him would not have been out of the question. But, like Clint said, he’d seen something in Clint. The possibility of better maybe. Or maybe just a man wishing he could do more, be more than what his circumstances gave him. He’d trusted Clint then and he still did. But could he trust him with the fate of this Black Widow?

“All right, we’ll give her a chance,” Fury finally said, leaning back in his chair and sighing. “She won’t answer anyone when we try to question her. Maybe she’ll talk to you.”

Clint let out a relieved, nearly silent sigh and nodded. He wasn’t at all surprised to know she wasn’t responding to questions. He hadn’t at first. And maybe knowing that he hadn’t killed her, had made a different call, would make her more likely to trust him. Or at least willing to talk. For people like them, trust came so rarely. But he would spend as much time as he needed to. He didn’t want to see her potential wasted.

\---------------------------------------

“Remember the first time we met?” Clint murmured into Natasha’s ear as they walked down a busy street in Budapest. He had an arm draped over her shoulders and her arm was wrapped around his waist. “It was right here in this city.”

“And you were sent to kill me?” Natasha murmured back, a thread of laughter in her voice as she smirked up at him. 

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” Clint laughed. “I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad I made a different call.”

“Yeah, me too,” Natasha said, leaning up to press a kiss to Clint’s lips. “I’m glad my bomb didn’t work.”

“You have no idea how glad I am I was able to disable it,” Clint chuckled, shaking his head again at the memory. While he’d been cool and focused during the situation, once it was resolved, he’d had to take a few minutes sitting on the floor to stop shaking. He pulled Natasha in tighter against his side and kissed her back. “It’s good to be back here. We can make better memories here.”

“Why don’t we start that right now?” Natasha asked, laying her head on Clint’s arm as they passed through the same square Clint had seen her in that last day. “You know, I knew you were watching me then. I just wanted it all over so I let you see me. I thought that was going to be my last day.”

“I thought it was going to be at first too,” Clint agreed, steering them to a fountain that had been built the year after he captured her. They sat down on the edge and Natasha let her fingers drift through the cold water. While she was looking away, Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. If they were going to start making better memories there was no better time for this than now. He touched Natasha’s shoulder gently to get her attention then held the box out to her. “This is for you.”

Natasha sucked in a breath, a momentary flash of fear in her eyes. She still didn’t quite like when things changed quickly, though she was a master at adapting. That little box represented quite a few things she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Even now, after all the time she’d spent in S.H.I.E.L.D. and she and Clint had been together. With a hand that she was proud only shook slightly, Natasha took the box and opened it. Inside rested a slender gold chain with a small arrow pendant in the center of the chain. It was unobtrusive and beautiful and Natasha loved it immediately.

“Think of it like a promise,” Clint said, a little self-consciously when Natasha said nothing. “I know you don’t really like rings and a promise ring seemed a little... I don’t know, childlike, I guess. But I thought this had more meaning.”

“It’s perfect,” Natasha finally said, lifting out the necklace. She held it out to Clint, who helped her fasten it around her neck. Once it was in place, Natasha stroked a finger gently over the gold arrow. “I like this promise. Thank you, Clint.”

They sat on the edge of the fountain watching people pass around them until the sun went down. The whole time, their hands were clasped together. Every once in a while, Natasha would rest her head on Clint’s shoulder and breathe out a quiet sigh. For once in her life, everything was perfect. There was nothing she wanted more than her job, the quiet moments in between, and the man next to her. One finger stroked over the arrow pendant again and Natasha smiled when she realized that necklace meant Clint wanted the same things. It was a good day.


End file.
